Dvorak Skullcrusher

Dvorak had little love for humans. He had seen too many of his kinsman slain by humans, usually when they were simply stalking game, or just passing through. Despite this, There was one group of humans his tribe counted among their allies, The Blackwolf Clan.

The Blackwolf clan was a tribe of barbarians that lived nearby. The two tribes clashed frequently over various things, from territory, to hunting grounds. Many times, the tribe's second in command, Grok, pleaded with the chieftain, Grep, to try to settle things with the blackwolves, but the chieftain was very stubborn, still nursing grudges about humans from when he was young. Grok hated the pointless conflict, and knew that the two tribes would have a much better time surviving if they combined their efforts, but nothing he could say could sway the chieftans mind.

One night, a scout reported that a large white dragon was attacking the Blackwolf's village. Grep knew that they would need to deal with the beast before it turned its attention to his tribe, but rather than assist the Blackwolves, he decided that they would sit on the sidelines, waiting until with the Blackwolves, or the dragon was defeated. They would then pounce on the weakened survivor. A warband was quickly assembled, and set out for the Blackwolf village.

The Blackwolf barbarians were making a good show of fighting the dragon, but months of the cold winter, with meager supplies had taken their toll. Grep was thrilled by what he saw. The two opposing forces seemed to be an even match, but they were slowly chipping away at each other. Whoever was left would be easy pickings for the warband of seasoned warriors.

One of the Blackwolf barbarians ran up to the warband, asking if they were here to slay his tribe as well. Grep was about to answer, when a stray blast of the dragon's breath came at them. Most of the warband was able to scatter in time, but Grep took the full brunt of the blast, falling unconscious. Grok saw his opportunity, and jumped on it, declaring that his tribe had sent a troop of mighty warriors to aid them in their time of need. The barbarian was skeptical, but welcomed the help all the same.

The combined forces were more than enough to beat back the dragon and win the day. Unfortunately, a good deal of the Blackwolve's stores had been destroyed, and even though they had been spared death at the hands of the dragon, they would surely starve. With Grep still unconscious, Grok too the opportunity to offer the Blackwolves assistance from his tribe. The leader of the Blackwolves was shocked, at first suspecting a trick, but he had seen how the orcs has come to their aid, and he sensed no malice in Grok's words. Together, the two tribes survived the winter, and became staunch allies in the years that followed.

While the tribes prospered, not all of its members appreciated this. Grep had never regained completely from the wounds he suffered, and he had lost his position of chieftan after the rest of the tribe had seen the benefits of joining with their neighbors against a common foe. He burned with rage, but there was nothing he could do to touch Grok. Grok had proved he was a capable leader, and now that he had the backing of the Blackwolf clan, any direct attack would quickly be stopped. Grep decided to bide his time and wait.

10 years had passed, and the two tribes enjoyed a very prosperous relationship. The barbarians were able to teach the orcs new methods of farming and hunting, and in turn, the orcs now had a way of buying and selling goods to the other human settlements without having to deal with prejudices.

Dvorak was still young at this time, but already he was a formidable warrior. In addition to his great strength, he also showed an aptitude for combat strategy. With this combination of intelligence and combat prowess, it seemed inevitable that he would become the next chieftan. Grok realized this, but held no animosity towards the young half-orc. He knew that his tribe would be in good hands, and he took Dvorak under his wing, to groom him to take on the mantle of chieftan in time.

During this time, Grep had left the village. His rage still burning, he began to study magic, in hopes that he might be able to gain enough power to topple Grok. At first, he began with Shamanism, but the progression was far too slow for Grep's tastes. He eventually came across an ancient tower hidden in the mountains. The tower had apparently once belonged to a mage, but there was no sign of the last owner, nor was there any indication that anyone had lived here for a very long time. The only inhabitant of the tower was an animated skeleton dressed in the livery of a servant. It did little more than follow simple orders and clean, but Grep knew how he could increase his power. He began reading through the old tomes in the tower, studying the darker areas of magic, such as necromancy, and demonology.

Grep was unrelenting in his studies. He performed twisted experiments with reanimating the dead, and many pacts with demons to wrest secrets from them. Exposure to the hazardous substances and creatures started taking their toll on his body. Fro the first time, Grep feared he may die before his plans could be brought to fruition. Neverthless, Grep refuse to let something as minor as his own weakened body stop him. He began experimenting anew, grafting undead and demonic flesh to his own withering body. The transfusions were excruciating, but Grep relished them. The pain helped him focus.

Eventually, Grep was barely recognizable. Huge bat-like wings sprouted from his back. Muscles, powered by demonic and necromantic energies rippled along his body, and clear glass containers of some unknown arcane substance pumped their noxious load through his body. Steel plates had been fastened over places where his body had failed, and began to rot away. While he was technically still among the living, the distinction was very slim.

At long last, Grep decided it was time to take his revenge. He could probably handle the village on his own, but he was unwilling to take the risk. And besides, he was the true warchief. What good was a warchief, without a warband to command? Grep knew just who would work to be his pawns. The Ironspine tribe.

The Ironspine tribe had clashed many times with the Skullcrushers. While they were not as well trained, or as well equipped, the Ironspines made up for this with larger numbers, and unequaled brutality and ruthlessless, even among the orc tribes. Cloaking himself in illusions to hide his true form, Grep made his way to the warchief of the Ironspines.

At first the warchief laughed at Grep, but this laughter was short-lived as Grep shed his illusions, and slew him. Having slain the old Warchief, Grep took his place as leader of the Ironspines. Grep's soul may have become as twisted and dark as his body, but he still felt a sense of accomplishment hearing the Ironspine warriors chanting his name.

From there, Grep whipped the tribe into a flurry of production. He sent warbands to nearby tribes, Offering them glory under his banner. Those that accepted were incorporated into the Ironspine tribe. Those that refused were crushed without mercy. Soon, Grep had gathered a massive army under his command. From time to time, upcoming warriors challenged Grep for leadership of the tribe. While he could always have them dealt with quietly, Grep preferred to accept the challenge. He relished in one-on-one combat, and was always able to defeat his enemy without a scratch. Soon rumors began to spread that he was really a god, maybe even Gruumsh himself. Grep saw no reason to correct these rumors. The army was so much easier to command and motivate when they thought they were fighting for a god.

Eventually, Grep marched his army on the Skullcrusher compound. The skullcrusher scouts saw them coming with lots of time to spare, and were able to get many of the non-combatants to safety. Still, the warriors of the Skullcrusher tribe would not stand a chance against the incoming horde. Even with the warriors pledged from the Blackwolf clan, it would still be a hard fight.

Grok still was very uneasy about the coming battle, and wanted Dvorak to take cover with the non-combatants, just in case. Dvorak refused, preferring to die a warrior's death, than to skulk about in the shadows. While Grok repected this viewpoint, he wanted to insure that his tribe would have a capable leader, and that could not happen if his protege was slain in an almost certainly unwinnable battle. Grok then proceeded to deal a mighty blow to Dvorak when he wasn't looking, knocking him unconcious.

When he finally came to, Dvorak was outraged at being denied a chance for battle. It was all the rest of the refugees could do to hold him back. He asked about the warriors, and nobody had heard from them at all. After a time, Dvorak settled down, and was able to understand why Grok had done what he did. They waited for a few days, and nothing approached the compound, ally or foe. The approaching army certainly could find the refugee stronghold, so why did they not attack? A scouting group was sent out to find out what had happened. They came across the remains of the village, razed to the ground. Oddly enough, there were no bodies to be found. In fact, the entire area had been picked clean. Dvorak came across two things that caught his attention. One was an axe of exquisite craftsmanship, crafted from the remains of the white dragon that had attacked the Blackwolf clan so long ago. The finest craftsmen of the Blackwolf clan had fashioned the axe and presented it to the SKullcrushers as a symbol of unity between the two tribes. It had served as the personal weapon of the chieftan ever since. Dvorak took possession of the axe, but was puzzled. he had seen Grok wield the weapon, and when he did, it glowed with a fierce blue-white light, and was capable of cleaving a boulder in half. In Dvorak's hands, it glowed with about as much light as a candle.

The second item he did not recognize at all. It looked like a plate of metal, possibly from a suit of armor, but it was etched with faintly glowing green runes. There were also traces of flesh along the edges, as though it had been fused to something, and then torn off. With his only clue in hand, Dvorak sent the rest of the scouting party back to the refugees. He swore that he would find who did this, and make them pay dearly. With that, he set out to the Dale lands. He had sworn vengeance, but he would need some help.